


Bones Bakes

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary</b>: Bones bakes a cake and is interrupted (pwp)<br/><b>Warnings</b>: none – bit cracky, maybe<br/><b>Disclaimer</b>: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.<br/><b>Author’s notes</b>: un-beta’d comment!fic</p><p> </p><p>Intriguing snippet: <i> Bones pulled away a little so he could turn his head and look at Jim. He had an adorable smudge of flour on his nose which turned down the effect of his scowl.</i></p><p><i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bones Bakes

**Bones Bakes**

In the kitchen, Jim leant on the door frame and took in the sight of Bones, baking. It was as if the transporter beam had collected up a domestic goddess, an irascible grouch and a statue by Donatello, somehow mixed them up and dumped them on Auntie’s kitchen floor. The back view was priceless, Bones naked save for an apron tied in a neat bow above the dip of his buttocks, lean back rising towards, it had to be said, serious bed hair. Bones tapped his feet and sang along to some hideous country ballad or other blaring out of the radio. Somewhere else in the universe, Jim decided, there must be an old lady, wearing Bones’ clothes and worrying about her cake burning. And a statue in a gallery in Florence gone missing.

“I know you’re there.” He said.

Jim couldn’t help smiling and padded towards his friend only stopping when his hips came up against Bones’ ass and he could walk no further.

“You’re like a bitch on heat.” Bones observed, not turning to look at him.

Jim rolled his chin in the cleft of Bones’ shoulder till it felt comfortable and he wrapped his arms around his waist. The smell of vanilla and sponge cake and everything good filled the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you could bake.” Jim said, kissing his jaw.

“Well, we’re all agreed I’m a talented bastard but the description doesn’t just cover my fucking.”

“Why are you naked?”

Bones pulled away a little so he could turn his head and look at Jim. He had an adorable smudge of flour on his nose which turned down the effect of his scowl.

“I’m not.”

Then he was back to turning his spoon through the cake mix.

“So how come you made cake?” Jim slid his hands down Bones’ hips and scooped his thumbs under the apron.

“Cause we finished painting. I thought we should celebrate.” He pushed the bowl away to the end of the table, took the wooden spoon and knocked it a couple of times on the edge and, still without glancing at Jim, bent forward over the table. Very obliging, Jim thought. Bones had spread his arms out to brace himself and his ass was definitely saying something to Jim through the front of his pjs.

“We celebrated already.” Jim growled into his ear, allowing his body to fold over Bones. He could hear birdsong, the whirr of the oven and how his friend’s breath had changed rhythm. His hips nudged Bones. Bones arched back. There was no hurry. Not yet.

“Yeah – but not with our clothes _on_. You two are fuckin’ sex maniacs.” He grouched like it was something he was going to write to the government about. “An’ your breath smells of cock.”

“Yeah, well Spock woke me up.” Jim explained licking his shoulder in long, leisurely strokes. “And you’re kinda salty too.”

“At least you’ll last longer than you usually do.” He growled. “Seein’ as you’ve had a work-out already this mornin’.”

“Shouldn’t you put the spoon...down -?” Jim wanted to know suddenly finding it harder to formulate sentences, the heat in his cock building exponentially with each consonant the lazy, southern bastard casually dropped and each backward motion of his ass.

“Only if you lick it.”

That request (order?) hung in the air a long moment until Jim found the where-with-all to grab Bones’ hips and turn him round to face him.

“Uff. “ Bones said as his ass hit the edge then he leant back against the table, his chin out, hair all over the fucking place, eyes dark and impatient and the spoon, covered in a wasteful amount of cake mix, still held in his right hand. They both looked down at the apron which tented out in front easing the cherry print upwards.

“Cherries.” Jim said, licking his lips.

“You always liked fruit.” Bones lifted the spoon. “Lick it.”

Jim grasped the hand holding the spoon and then guided it between them. The muscles in his arm contracted when he felt Bones resist the movement - the difficult bastard. He tried to raise the spoon to his mouth and Bones wrestled silently with him, his eyebrows threatening like storm clouds.

Jim knew enough about what made Bones tick to stop fighting and allow his mouth to fall open as he strained to bring the mix closer. Hah! – that crumpled his guard and in the split second that Bones lost concentration, the spoon was close enough for Jim to shove the whole end in. He’d given up, the lightweight. Jim held Bones’ eyes as he turned the spoon one hundred and eighty degrees round in his mouth, his tongue sliding over its smooth surface, their hands still intertwined while he scraped the last sugary, sticky globule with loud slurps and stage moans – just to wind him up. Then he made a big show of running his tongue around his teeth and lips. Bones followed its every movement, apparently mesmerized.

Jim put the spoon down on the table and his eyes shot to the tented apron and back to Bones.

“That’s not very masculine, you know?”

Bones nodded. “But this is.” He lifted the apron to one side revealing Jim’s favourite hard-on in the universe. Then the fucker had to raise his eyebrow. That was it.

Jim dug his fingers into Bones’ hips and ordered, “Up!” hoisting him onto the table. He leant around him and swept everything that might get in the way off the table, the bowl, the bag of flour, broken egg shells bounced and rolled in different directions. “Scoot up.” He said.

“Make me.” Bones said, folding his arms.

But, after Jim had finished rummaging around in the cupboards and he’d turned with his bottle of corn oil in hand, despite the insolent tone, Bones had spread himself out like a cake, (Jim snickered inwardly at his pertinent simile), the apron still tied on but thoughtfully tucked up in the waist band.

“You’d do well to remember, _Lieutenant_ , that I’m the captain.” He said his voice low as he concentrated on oiling himself up, “And I can have you court-martialled for not following orders.”

“I’ll…um…bear that in mind.” Bones grunted when Jim shoved two fingers in and twisted.

“So, lift your knees up.”

“Yes, _Sah_!” With a cocky salute too.

Sarcastic bastard. But he _had_ done as he was told.

“And this is hardly regulation.” Jim said, twisting again, nodding at the apron. “And you really don’t look sorry.”

He didn’t.

Jim took a moment to enjoy the wanton vision in front of him – Bones was dark skinned after just a couple of days in the sun and his pale cock (and let’s not forget the fancy white apron) stood out against his belly. It was too perfect. Jim retrieved his fingers, scooped some oil and mixed it hurriedly with the piles of flour on the table. Once he’d scrawled ‘EAT ME’ on the perfect abdomen in front of him he took a moment to admire his handy work and wiped his hand on the apron.

He saw that Bones had flipped his legs so they were flush with his chest.

“I’m getting’ bored, _Captain_.” he growled.

The table was the perfect height – those Shakers knew how to build quality furniture, Jim thought as he finally dropped his pjs round his ankles, lined up and shoved balls deep in one breathless movement. Ah! That wiped the smirk off his face. He pulled out again and watched in satisfaction as Bones stretched his arms out, to gather him in at the shoulders. His words belied his actions as ever,

“Is that the best you can do, you amateur?”

But the noises which escaped his mouth gave Bones away – how he tried to hang onto a breath, then let it go as soon as Jim pulled out away again, as if he’d lost something. Plus his eyes were screwed shut now, Jim thought, his heart pounding in his ears (thank God ‘cause it blotted out the stupid music) and that was always an indication that the old man was feeling vulnerable and didn’t want to let on.

“How about this?” Jim grunted, slipping his hands under his lover’s buttocks to change the angle.

“It’s…ok. _Fuck_.” Bones, defiant till the end, almost. “Fuck me, you fucking, Vulcan-cock-lovin’ bast..”

Jim couldn’t decide what to look at, his cock sliding in and out, Bones wanking himself in time to his thrusts, the smoke that had begun to snake out of the oven door…

Bones, sensing the urgency, slid his hand around Jim’s neck and pulled him in for their first kiss of the morning, his scalding lips drawing Jim in just as he tightened his internal muscles to help him lose it. Jim pounded erratically, pulling his mouth away to straighten up and get more space to manoeuvre. His hands kept slipping in the oily, floury mess he’d made and he wasn’t sure corn oil was the best lubricant – he really wasn’t getting the friction he needed.

“Fascinating.” The modulated voice behind him had both of them looking over Jim’s shoulder. Spock stood in the doorway, freshly showered, his hair dark as raven feathers. He jerked himself in a leisurely fashion as he watched them.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jim managed to ask. Bones, he saw, hadn’t even bothered opening his eyes. He felt his nails digging into his shoulders, in case he stopped fucking or something.

“I was concerned at the smell - I doubt your Aunt would loan us the cottage again if we burned it to the ground.” He’d taken up a position next to Bones’ face so he could watch.

“She could hardly loan us a … _fuck_ … pile of soot, could she, ass-hole?” Bones managed.

“Lick it.” Jim said. “And that’s an order.”

Bones deigned to open his eyes, he flopped back, too exhausted to hold himself up at this angle and wank any more so Jim took over while Spock obligingly pressed his length into Bones’ mouth. He had, after all, been up a long time already.

What a team! Jim thought as he pushed one last time holding still as he came hard and noisily, watching Spock spill into Bones’ eager mouth and jerking his friend’s cock until he was certain there was nothing left for him to give. The fact that Bones had stopped moaning and started grousing was clue enough.

“Just so we’re clear - I’m not cleaning up this fuckin’ mess.”

Jim pulled out of him and loosened the apron so he could use the fabric to wipe his cock.

“Shut up, Bones.” He said, kissing him on the thigh, balling up the fabric and dropping it onto his chest. “Anyone for breakfast?”

Spock had turned off the oven and was examining the burnt cake. Jim had never expected to see a Vulcan, naked save for a cherry-patterned oven-glove anywhere in the universe, let alone in a kitchen in Georgia.

“I appear to be the only one of us who has yet to eat. I would benefit from a light breakfast.” Spock said, placing the baking tin on the heat proof counter and opening a window. “In fact, Jim has eaten twice over and you, Leonard, has no doubt eaten batter.”

“Nothing has passed my lips ‘cepting coffee - don’t tempt me.” Bones sighed from the table, still splayed out like a beached starfish. He hadn’t moved a muscle, his limbs and hair painted and ‘aged with flour.

“Is that a promise?” Jim chuckled, scooping coffee into a jug.

“Well, you read what it says on my chest. No one has taken me up on that yet.”

FIN

In case you were wondering about the statue in Florence,  
here it is. 


End file.
